Want
by Miss-Statement
Summary: Maximum Victory/Chasefield unrelated/barely related drabbles. Most short and not so sweet. When Victoria Chase wants something, she gets it. As it just so happens, she wants Max.
1. Want

**Feeling Good- the Muse. (Came on as I began writing this drabble, so call it my inspiration if you want)**

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Victoria smirked.

The light of dawn stretched over the face of the other girl in her bed. She wasn't exactly sure how it happened (Max had sworn that her cheap pickup lines at the beginning of the year would have no effect) but clearly something had changed last night. The blonde had no idea how they'd ended up in her bedroom from the Vortex club. She had no idea how Max had gone from that meek little girl that could barely mutter two words without stuttering, to someone who was confident, flirty, and downright sinful. From what Victoria could remember last night at the pool (grinding, lips that sucked on her neck, and eventually stumbling into the _bathroom_ and locking the stall door-) what happened between them was hot.

More than that, Victoria fucked the girl who'd been playing hard to get all year.

Now the question was: how did Victoria keep her?

Their clothes were scattered throughout the room. From what Victoria could see in her position leaning slightly above the other girl, her lipstick had smeared across the other girl's lips. She remembered that clearly. Passionate, fast, battling tongues and grasping for an even ground as she sucked on Max's lips. The rest of the night was a blur, but there was the faintest memory of clawing her hands down Max's back and hearing her name screamed from the brunette's lips.

Max shifted in her sleep, curling to make up for the lack of warmth Victoria stole when she sat up. From that angle, Victoria could see the delicate curve of her lips, the rosiness in her cheeks, the slightest fluttering in her eyelashes as Max dreamed. Max's hair was splayed across Victoria's pillows, Max was tangled up in her sheets.

Victoria had finally fulfilled the conquest she'd set out to take nearly all year, even as they'd argued and screamed. Even in her anger, Victoria had been severely taken with Max. Attracted in ways that made her body sing when they'd gotten so close she could feel the heat of Max's breath on her lips in their fights. From what she barely could remember last night, when they'd finally met in the sheets it was explosive. Agressive. Intimate. And, after a while, it had gotten slow. Careful. Sobering.

Now that Victoria knew what it felt like to have Max, she never wanted to let her go. She wanted Max waking up in her bed every day. She wanted Max screaming at her angrily, and screaming at her in passion. She wanted Max to hold. And, she wanted to learn all the secret corners of Maxine Caulfield. To be the only one to know all those corners. Victoria wanted to talk to Max without screaming or getting into an argument. She wanted to be the one Max came to with her problems. She wanted to take care of Max in every possible way she could.

Victoria wanted to call Max hers.

Maybe it was her selfishness, or sense of entitlement, her overconfidence or ego, but Victoria Chase _always_ got what she wanted.

And someday she wanted Max to be hers, and to be Max's in turn.

As Victoria shifted back down (Max easily and instantly slipping back into her arms), she knew she'd do everything within her powers to make it happen.


	2. What doe she Know?

**Do I Wanna Know?- Arctic Monkeys. One of my favorite songs of all time. Shoutout to Protohipster. What she wants, she gets.**

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Max was up to something. Victoria could tell.

For the past week, Max had all the right things to say. Always seemed to be in the right place at the right time. It was easy to see in her eyes that Max knew more than she should. Nathan said so himself, yet the selfie ho couldn't keep her filthy eyes to herself. Couldn't stay in her place. Couldn't keep her trap shut.

It shouldn't bother Victoria as much as it does. It's not like it's her own reign of power at Blackwell that Max was threatening. More so, whatever it was that Max seemed to know threatened someone else. Someone Victoria cared about, that everyone misjudged. _And how dare they misjudge one of her best friends?_ Nathan wasn't dangerous... except when he was threatened. That factor was almost suicidal to whomever it was that threatened him because aside from the revenge that Nathan brought to the table, Victoria was known to have an odd streak of vengeance (read, protectiveness) herself. If her best friend was being threatened by someone as naive as Max, Victoria wouldn't hesitate to crush her. Usually, anyway.

Maybe Victoria was so torn up inside because she was split between feeling protective over Nathan and...

Fucking hell no. She didn't feel "protective" over the waif hipster loser. Not even a little. That girl was asking for whatever Nathan brought down on her.

Except, was she? Victoria couldn't help thinking about Max somehow making it up to that roof in the knick of time, leaving fast enough from their class together to talk Kate down. How did Max do it? How did Max get up there? Does Max deserve whatever it seems to be she's asking for?

What does Max know?

Nathan was her best friend. He was a little unstable, but it's something that can't be helped. No one knew so much as Victoria what he had to live through on a daily basis. What Nathan's father put him through. She understood it to more than a degree. Her own parents were a stern driving force behind her dreams. There was a part of her though that couldn't help wondering how long she could keep defending him before his actions took him too far. Took them too far. She didn't doubt that she'd somehow get dragged into his mess (almost always was defending him). It made her wonder how far she'd be willing to go as his best friend?

So maybe it made sense that she felt a little worried for the other girl. An unstable Nathan and a vengeful Victoria made a deadly pair. Not worried enough that she should do anything about it, though. As she'd said before, whatever Max thought she was doing probably warranted whatever hell Nathan brought down on her. Karma's a bitch. And, even if she was a little worried, if Victoria had to choose between the two she'd pick Nathan all the way. Not that there'd even be a choice.

What even was Max to her anyway?

No one. She was nothing.

Victoria's dreams said differently. Not that Victoria could help her subconscious when it crept in at night. Those slight dreams when Max's head tipped up towards hers and those _soft lips_ pressed-

And Victoria's reality barely helped either. When Max looked at her with those wide, doe eyes practically pleading for Victoria to- do what exactly? Kiss and make up? Play nice? Victoria doesn't play nice. She doesn't need someone fake as her friend. Victoria already has enough fake friends (all of her friends bar Nathan were fake). So what exactly did Max want from her? Why did Victoria even care?

She tried to tell herself it was because they were rivals, competing for Mr. Jefferson's attention. Victoria knew how it was in the real world. How it was in the art world. Things weren't just handed to her because she looked at someone with big doe eyes. She had to work for it. Suck up for it. Take shot after shot after shot of photos and hope even a part of one of them was good enough. Victoria had grudgingly accepted a long time ago that Max was her only competition. Her heart pounding in her chest had to be from anger. Her stomach fluttering in nerves had to be because of her insecurities, her nerves at not stepping up enough. Her need to speak to Max, to say anything to Max, came as a result of trying to throw Max off her game. There couldn't be any other reason.

Kate (Victoria's trying to think this nicely, she didn't mean for Kate to... thank God Max was there) took only pictures of cats. Her groupie was only in that class because Victoria had signed up for it and one of them had to take notes. But Max?

Max was the real deal. The real, potentially catastrophic deal.

Potentially life changing, and Victoria wasn't sure she'd be able to help the girl if she stuck her nose somewhere it didn't belong. Whatever stupid thing Victoria's subconscious was trying to tell her, Victoria could only go so far. She could only do so much. Fuck it, yeah she was worried.

What was the hipster up to?

Why did she care?


	3. Of Ripping Pictures

"I wish we could be more than this."

The moment the words come out of your mouth my body freezes up and my brain starts to stutter. I knew this moment was coming. I'd known it since the moment we'd first kissed. Nothing can ever be simple, can it?

"What?" I ask, playing innocent.

"I said," you repeat kindly, stepping in closer and placing your hand lightly on my arm. "I wish we could be more than this."

You look up at me with those wide, pleading doe eyes; the ones I had never said no to before. Fuck, this hurts a lot more than I thought it would. "Max," I begin carefully, raising my hand to rest against your cheek. You know what's coming though. Like me, you knew that this outcome was inevitable. It tears apart my insides when you pull away, those eyes no longer looking up to meet mine.

You cut me off before I can say anything, "I know. I know Victoria." You breathe in deeply and your body seems to deflate. Your eyes look darker for some reason. Haunted. I don't let you step too far away from me, grabbing your hand as you walk away and pulling you back. There's a bittersweet moment where we're just leaning against each other and I'm holding you in my arms tightly. I do my best to memorize every freckle on your face, the feeling of you against me, the way we're holding each other now. This, whatever it was, is coming to a much needed (however painful) end.

It happens slowly, you looking up at me with those beautiful, wide, haunted doe eyes and me leaning down to meet you. Our lips meet, my heart skips a beat, and just like every time before I melt a little on the inside.

When you pull away I swallow the lump in my throat. I don't move and watch as you silently walk away. You don't look back. I don't look away.

Somehow, someway, our little rendezvous have come to mean so much more to me than it ever should've. The lines became too blurred to see the clearer picture anymore. It was unfocused, unclear, much like the beautiful photos you take. Rough. And the picture? I just ripped it in half.


	4. Accidents Happen

korr-a-sami from Tumblr Prompt: You unintentionally got your earring stuck in my hair and WOW okay youre really pretty but this is getting a lot of attention and Im very close to your lips and it hurts someone please help!

Though this is based on a prompt, I also pulled inspiration from my own life experiences. Hope you like Maximum Victory.

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Do you know what happens when I'm around attractive people? Accidents, because I am a walking hazard with two left feet and eyes that are definitely not blind.

The first time I saw you I walked into oncoming traffic. You were sitting at a table outside a coffee shop with two other (insignificant) girls. The way you held yourself, the way the mid-afternoon cloudy daylight was shining down, and the exact moment your eyes met mine set off a stun bomb in my head. Suddenly, all working functions ceased to exist. My brain froze as my head swiveled to continue staring at you while my feet continued to keep walking forward. The next thing I knew? Someone's pulling me back while a car slams on the horn, breaking hard as it speeds through the space of air where I had just been standing. My heart was pounding in my chest for more than one reason that day.

The second time I was at work. The Two Whales Diner is a family owned little restaurant, where I work with my best friend. At the time I had been saving up to go to Blackwell Academy. The day you walked in I was unprepared for the ambush. Bang, another stun bomb in my head. And, wow- you started talking. Words. Your voice. Silky and confident and so very clever. It hums over my thoughts, drowning everything else out. I stared at you dumbly (and probably with my mouth open). There was an awkward pause where I stood simply in awe of presence. You eyed me up and down, and I knew you were out of my league. I took your order, got you your food, and later I walked over to your table to see how everything tasted or if you needed anything. Instead of asking the standard "Do you need anything? Does the food taste good? How's everything over here?" like I was supposed to do, I asked, "Do you need me to taste you? You look really good." It was simply a brain fart, but you stared at me like I was insane and it took me a moment to realize what I'd said. Then a huge blush graced my cheeks, I stuttered out some unintelligible words and walked away. It wouldn't have been so bad if the very next second I hadn't tripped over nothing, then tripped over a stool, then fell over the counter and dragged part of the display case with me. When I stood up, I was covered in scrambled eggs and raspberry filling. My face was even redder, and if possible your expression became even more astonished. I tried my best to recover, and walked into the back room like nothing had happened. Chloe covered for me, but to this day I have yet to live it down.

The third time occurred about two weeks into me living at Blackwell. One morning I went to the bathroom and took a shower. Then I heard your voice talking on the phone as you entered the bathroom. I cracked the curtain open a bit to peek and make sure it was actually you. Once I realized it was, I shot back so fast I slipped and fell out of the shower. The shower curtain ended up tearing as I did so, I stood up to do what I did best and pretend nothing happened. You'd stopped mid conversation and it took me a second to realize (as I was caught up in staring at you again and in pretending that everything was fine) that I was still stark naked. And, holy fuck, I flashed you. My cheeks burned as I hastily wrapped a towel around me and quickly bent over to grab my clothes. "Sorry," I muttered. I moved to leave the room and tripped over the shower curtain. My bra launched across the room and landed in the sink you were standing next to. I blinked owlishly at it in surprise, then at you, then at the bra, then at the curtain on the floor. Then I left. To this day, I don't know where my bra went. Dog, how embarrassing.

But this time? This time it's not my fault. Here I was lightly playing guitar in my room, thinking about the girl in almost all of my classes (*coughs* you *coughs*), and then I heard a commotion across the hall. I set the guitar down and opened the door to make sure everything was alright. How was I supposed to know you were leaning against it? Next thing I know you're falling on top of me and we're piled up awkwardly on the floor. I bang my head against something, and when I move to give us space there's an uncomfortably sharp tug at my hair. I try again and then you make a noise of distress. Immediately I stop moving. It takes us both a second to realize who the other person is, and the situation we've found ourselves in on the floor. Our heads are really close together, tied together actually, and each movement I make pulls at my scalp. I turn to see where my hair is caught (ouch) and it's tangled in your earrings.

Wowsers.

Your eyes are beautiful.

"WHAT THE HELL?" your voice, though loud and angry, still carries that same attractive confidence and silkiness to it. You go off on a tangent, trying your best to remove your earring so that my hair can be freed. My hair is really short though, and somehow you're only making matters worse. You start talking about taking scissors and cutting my hair off, when you notice the position we're in. Your voice trails off. There are doors opening up down the hall and I know that soon we'll have an audience. I can't help staring at your lips. There's another sharp tug at my hair as you move to face me fully. How are you so pretty? And breathtaking? And overall-

Ouch!

Your lips are too close. Also, this hurts now. And it's starting to get awkward. Plus, now we've got an audience. Why are they just standing there? Wait, did someone just take a picture? Is the peanut gallery really this useless? You start tearing into everything again with your words, and pulling violently at the knot of my hair in your earring, comments just as crisp as the pain now numbing my scalp. My thoughts are on autopilot now, though. Through all this pain, being this close to you sets off another "stun bomb" in my mind. Someone help me now, before I kiss you or something.

Dog, that would be embarrassing.


End file.
